


fly high across the sky

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Gen, POV Claire Novak, Post-Episode: s10e09 The Things We Left Behind, Season/Series 10, non-explicit reference to canonical non-con, possible vague implied pre-dean/cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2751494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel doesn’t smell like she remembers her father smelling. He looks like him—a little more tired, different trench coat, but him all the same—and for one shocking, stupid moment when he’d walked in the door at the group home her mind had screamed <i>Dad</i> and every part of her had ached for him, to throw herself into arms she knew would be at once hard and soft and warm, hands that would stroke her hair and lips that would kiss her head and tell her everything was okay.<br/>---<br/>A 10x09 Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	fly high across the sky

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of Claire feels that needed an outlet. Title is from "Kingdom Come" by The Civil Wars.
> 
> Thanks as always to [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) for beta <3.

Castiel doesn’t smell like she remembers her father smelling.

He looks like him—a little more tired, different trench coat, but him all the same—and for one shocking, stupid moment when he’d walked in the door at the group home her mind had screamed _Dad_ and every part of her had ached for him, to throw herself into arms she knew would be at once hard and soft and warm, hands that would stroke her hair and lips that would kiss her head and tell her everything was okay. Jimmy would have done all of those things, and he would have said a prayer with her for God to watch over her.

But if God exists he’s a bastard like Castiel, and Jimmy’s dead because of them both.

The anger isn’t new but it’s shocking now, to feel that fury alongside the visceral ache deep in her bones that longs to reach out to him, the part of her that looks at the angel and screams _father_ even though she knows he’s no longer there. And after that man—the loan shark who came after Randy for payment—had touched her, she was left broken and shaking and scared, just like the child she swears she isn’t, a weak little thing she promised herself she would never be after Castiel stole her father for a second time. But it was so easy, after Castiel saved her, to climb into the back seat of that big black car and curl into his heat, comforted by the sight of the familiar face he wears, that strong arm settling stiffly around her thin shoulders.

And then Sam Winchester had run back into the house when they heard the noise, and Castiel had taken her hand and followed even though she wanted to scream _no, no don’t make me go back there_ and he’d covered her face when they saw the carnage that Dean was kneeling in and soothed her as best he could.

He soothes her still now, in his awkward, unsure way, one big hand stroking over her hair, fingers skating along the lines of tight braids on the left side of her head. The touch is fatherly, a liberty Castiel has no right to take, and she should push away, make him stop, but she can’t seem to make herself do it, and instead curls tighter into the new, unfamiliar coat. And his smell, his smell is like Jimmy’s but not like him at all, the scent of lightning in the air after a storm layered over the crisp smell of new clothes and clean skin.

The car rumbles loud beneath them, Sam at the steering wheel now with Dean in the passenger seat. The older Winchester still has blood in his hair, and he stares listlessly out the windshield, unable to meet his brother’s gaze when Sam darts searching glances his way. There’s concern in Sam’s soft puppy-dog face, and Claire would snort and roll her eyes if she had any energy left for derision. Dean isn’t in need of concern. Castiel had explained in low, murmured words about the Mark of Cain a few miles back but all she knows is that Dean scares her a little bit and she hates to be afraid.

As it is, she’s used up enough that she curls closer into Castiel anyway, her hand tightening reflexively in the stiff fabric of his coat. The angel in her father’s body drags his brooding gaze away from the back of Dean’s head, turning awkwardly to look down at her. She doesnt look up, doesn’t want to see her father’s worried face, but she feels Castiel’s chin brush against the top of her head, his arm tightening reflexively around her shoulders.

She wonders if this, this awkward but freely offered physical affection, is a remnant of her father, or something new Castiel learned in the years since she last saw him. She’d meant what she said when she told him he’d changed; this Castiel is still not her father but she can read the regret in the lines of his body and the sad tilt of his blue eyes, achingly familiar but filled with the wide universe and time uncounted and a sadness that wasn’t there before. That angel, the one she’d said yes to in a fit of heroics, knew nothing but duty. He would not be staring at the back of Dean’s head with worry and longing and fear, and he would not he holding her like this, half to offer her comfort and half in search of his own.

"Where are we going?" She murmurs into his sleeve, and he looks down at her again before answering.

"Kansas," he says. The voice isn’t like Jimmy’s either; it’s deeper, rough like gravel. "The Winchesters have a place. It’s warded and hidden; you’ll be safe there."

She musters an eyeroll for that one. “Whatever, I’m not some delicate flower.”

She thinks she feels Castiel smile against her hair. “I know.”

"Is it far?" she asks after a brief hesitation.

"Several hours at least. You should get some sleep. I’ll wake you if we stop."

Claire nods. She shifts, trying to get comfortable, and Castiel’s arm loosens around her, unsure, offering her an out if she needs it. She should take it—she’s still angry with him, will probably never not be angry over losing her entire family—but she doesn’t, because Castiel may not smell like her father but he feels like him and he feels safe. She closes her eyes.

She’s just starting to drift off to sleep when she thinks she hears Castiel say, “I’ll watch over you,” and it’s more than just words, it’s a promise, whether she believes it or not. Her lips soften into an unwilling smile and she can’t be sure through the haze of exhaustion, but she thinks she feels something that could be Castiel’s lips pressing against her hair.


End file.
